


meet again; ATEEZ

by arrowthroughtheheart



Series: apocalypteez [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: ATEEZ - Freeform, ATEEZ is very sad, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Timeline, End of the World, Fiction, Gen, Heavy Angst, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied Relationships, Major Character Injury, Minor Detail in Gore Stuff, Minor Original Character(s), Not Beta Read, Post-Apocalypse, Sad, Sorry Not Sorry, Timeline What Timeline, World Wars, and very sad, baby yeosang is sad all the time, be careful i cried, but not really they could all just be platonic, poor bby, they are all sad tho, unedited, very very sad, we die for ATEEZ, we die like men who, why is that not a tag, yeet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22147447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowthroughtheheart/pseuds/arrowthroughtheheart
Summary: “I dreamt of us yesterday,” Yeosang hums, and it would usually be too quiet for San to hear, but this time; the serene and silent sounds of nature are the only ones that are surrounding them. “Of all of us.”San leans in to Yeosang’s shoulder as the older’s hand wraps around him. “Is that so?” he asks, turning his chin up to look at Yeosang, who is looking into the horizon. The sun is setting.“I want to dream of all of us, too,” San chuckles, getting himself comfortable.“Go to sleep, then,” Yeosang responds, quick and way too sure of himself. San watches without expression as the older takes his shoes off, setting them aside. “Go to sleep, and dream about all of us."
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Everyone, Choi San/Everyone, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho/Everyone, Jung Wooyoung/Everyone, Kang Yeosang/Everyone, Kim Hongjoong/Everyone, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong/Song Mingi, Park Seonghwa/Everyone, Song Mingi/Everyone
Series: apocalypteez [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706425
Comments: 43
Kudos: 100





	meet again; ATEEZ

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY ATEEZ WORLD DOMINATION DAY  
> a.k.a Answer ruined me and now I have to ruin y'all too.  
> ok but disclaimer: this is all fiction and I would n o t be happy if something like this happens to anyone irl  
> also i cried a lot making this. take of that as you will.

**_BREAKING NEWS:_ ** _ The massive waves of rage are spreading evenly across the people, and it’s only going to be a matter of time until- _

\-----

“ _ Hyung _ ?”

The voice of another being floats into Wooyoung’s field of thoughts, and it took everything in him to finally look away from the bright TV screen that is displaying a deeply concerning scene that is happening currently, god knows where. 

Jongho is standing in front of the living room’s door, looking like he’s ready to take on the day - even though the puffy eyes and pale lips is anything but a reminder that they currently do, lack a lot of sleep. The younger is squinting his eyes at Wooyoung, but maybe it’s just how he usually looks at people, before clasping his hands together. “If we don’t hurry, you  _ know  _ who’s going to be coming for our heads.”

Wooyoung nods, his concern peaking for the scene in front of him.  _ Bombs, smoke, buildings torn apart, screaming, from both children and adults all the same.  _

_ -as we encourage you all to  _ **_stay inside_ ** _ , and  _ **_stay safe_ ** _. _

He watches as the screen glitched before turning off, as if milking every single drop of the concerning news he’s just processed. Wooyoung looks behind him, at Jongho who is closing his eyes while leaning against the door frame and then at the clock hanging just above the TV. 

The world around them seems calm, and peaceful, almost - though Wooyoung can’t really say that a week before  _ any  _ comeback is usually peaceful, especially if a world tour follows not that far behind. But it is. It weirdly is. 

Peace lasted for about five seconds before everything falls apart and restarts, usually, in their messy but warm dormitory. Though today, it doesn’t feel like it at all.

Wooyoung picks his jacket up, moving himself along from the sofa to situate himself beside Jongho, who woke up with a jolt at the sudden existence of the older right in front of his nose, trying to lock the door. Wooyoung looks troubled, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. And from the time he locked the door until he’s about two feet away from their front door, he’s fixed his hair about 13 - 15 times.

“This is why,” Jongho starts out, careful on not tripping over his own feet from the fatigue that is dawning upon him, “you shouldn’t watch that much TV.”

“Huh?” Wooyoung responds, tension beginning to climb and his eyebrows shooting upwards. Jongho has little to no idea why his older friend is that defensive over something usually so comical, but he decides to not dwell on it. There’s no response to Wooyoung’s questioning hum.

\-----

The walk inside was exasperating for Wooyoung, as he felt as if he can see and hear the pulses of fifty-five different people beating in different directions  _ because  _ of different reasons all at once. Something is definitely off around here, it’s just that no one has big enough guts to tell them.

Inside the meeting room is no better, as he could tell from a few feet away, before they even entered their company - and from the way Jongho is fuming with anxiety and the option to not blame Wooyoung, who was dragging his ass down and made him a little too late to the supposed meeting. 

Hongjoong’s face is laced with something akin to being as exasperated as Wooyoung and a little dash of disappointment, yet he holds himself back from showing it to them which results in the little cringe that is dangling off the side of his lips.

Apparently, both Wooyoung and Jongho need to thank Seonghwa for this; because the older is patting Hongjoong’s back therapeutically while the two young ones’ pitter-patter filled the room.

“Alright,” Seonghwa’s whisper echoes in the quiet room, as if it’s meant to only be heard by Hongjoong but was shared to the world for everyone by accident. “You can start telling them,” he continues, but holds the leader back as he shifts in his seat like an impatient tiger, “but  _ slowly _ . We don’t know if they’ll receive this news kindly.”

_ “They’re delaying the tour,” _ Hongjoong spits out either way, possibly from not listening to the later part of Seonghwa’s trial-hypnotism. The rest of the room tried their best to not flinch from the sudden news they were hit with  _ again _ , since apparently the six of them who arrived earlier was called to the meeting room for ‘something’, and this is apparently the result.

Which sucks, because Wooyoung did  _ not  _ snap out of his conspiracy theory thoughts for this. Whatever this is.

“What- why? Because we’re late? Or is it like some, uh, other-worldly thing that is maybe stopping us from-” Wooyoung shuts his own mouth, thankfully, knowing how out of his mind he might sound. He already does, though, since a half of his thoughts were voiced out just a few seconds ago - and now Jongho is looking at him, eyes crinkled, possibly thinking, ‘This bitch must still be sleepy.’

Hongjoong, by this point, is visibly uncomfortable and as disappointed as the rest of them for having to hear the news twice, and he’s already situating his forehead in the middle of his palms which were cupping his eyes. He’s in no place to have an explanation ready for the firework of questions that Wooyoung has always been and always will be, and for now, he’s just going to close his eyes.

“No, Wooyoung, it’s not your fault. Not  _ our  _ fault - it’s just that. . .” Seonghwa trails off, not blinking, eyes finding Hongjoong’s who were looking at him the whole time, afraid the older was going to misspoke. 

“We don’t know,” Hongjoong unhid himself, eyes half-closed in stress, “KQ doesn’t know either. They were just  _ told  _ to stop us from. . .touring, or whatever.”

He stood up from his chair, running his fingers through his hair - which made Jongho groan, because why do all these men do that when they’re stressed out? He’s seen Wooyoung did it and it’s worth a whole decade of not seeing anyone do  _ that  _ anymore, but then this happened - and approached the door, putting his cap on.

“The comeback is still as scheduled, though, and we  _ will  _ be showing our best,” Hongjoong looks around, that pointed look of him being serious and a half-angry engraved on his face. Apparently, he’s not really in the mood to let his kids tail him everywhere; so he left without saying another word.

“Okay,” Seonghwa clasps his hands together, making the owner of the shoulder he circled his hands on look up, eyes disinterested. “He’ll be fine as the day proceeds. We should go to the practice-” 

There’s a sound of an explosion outside. A loud one, one that you’d usually see on the cinema and think, ‘Damn. How loud would that be if I was actually in the scene where it happens?’ 

But not only that, the vibrations from the ground up that follows were  _ big _ . Like they themselves took a hit from a missile and now it’s shaking and crushing their bones, making the glasses in the room clash against each other and break, the liquids stored inside pouring out from the cracks and onto their previously dry clothing. The lights among them swing here and there for a few seconds while the ground shakes, and it flickers as if it’s about to fall off.

Seonghwa, who was previously halfway to walking outside the door; is now laying on his back with the door opened wide, held by one of his feet that made it swung open in the first place. He’s laying there on the floor, eyes wide in shock and one of his hands protectively covering his head from the roof if it supposedly falls on them, the other holding on to the back of Yunho’s neck, who fell from his chair trying to stop Seonghwa from going outside when the explosion happened.

The rest were amazingly rooted deep enough on their seats for them to hold on to the table while covering their heads with their hands so that they didn’t fall off, but only seconds after the wave of the explosions died down and there’s only little jitters and vibrations left do they all stand up, disbelief written on their faces.

_ “-ids!” _

Wooyoung’s head is dizzier than ever, one side of it is because he’s  _ not  _ living his best life right now, his head banged on the table while he was being paranoid over the lights falling on top of his head and his left hand was half-squashed by Yeosang, who was supposed to be the one to take the hit of head-to-the-table if not for Wooyoung’s quick reflexes while his hand became a little pillow for his best friend’s forehead. The other side of it is because the supposed ‘fake news’ he watched this morning. . . was it not fake at all? Why is no one asking them to leave the city? Take them into custody or into a safety fort? Who the fuck is out there?

_ “kIDS!” _

Seonghwa took a peek outside for a millisecond only for him to be engulfed in a concerned bear hug by Hongjoong, whose hands fell on the older’s shoulders for a whole short five seconds before he shoved him out of the way to check the room. There’s evident relief on Hongjoong’s face after he head-counted the rest of the people in the room, patting San a little bit too long since he was hidden under the table, hence alarming Hongjoong before he saw the younger’s pie-chart looking hair.

“What happened?” Mingi asks, voice muffled by his own sleeves since he’s still hiding under them with a sad look on his face. 

“Did everyone leave?” Wooyoung asks, finally not sounding like a crazy man obsessed with sci-fi movies. “Is that why no one’s checking on us?”

Seonghwa and Hongjoong exchanged looks, storming outside the door almost immediately. They didn’t even bother asking the younger ones to stay inside, since they’ll know it’s almost impossible to make them do so - so they did. They went outside, confusion written all over their faces, hoping to find their answers.

They didn’t.

The lobby is filled with even  _ more  _ confused people, apparently the lady on the front desk and the exasperated ATEEZ members are the only ones who decided to walk outside - or at least close enough to the door so they can  _ see  _ outside, but are left with no closure.

_ Nothing.  _

The side of Hongjoong’s exposed arm is red, turning a blue-ish purple, Wooyoung noted; which might explain the fact that the leader was probably on the stairs on his way down - or on his way into his studio, whichever works - when the explosion tore the whole building apart and he fell down, hard. Well, not literally tore it apart since it looks. . . fine.

Outside is fine, too. The sun is shining through the cloudy sky and there’s no sign of anything breaking whatsoever. Minus the broken glasses inside their meeting room, the world looks - and _acts_ - as if they’re fine.

Wooyoung took a quick glance at the ink holder right above the front desk’s. . .well, desk, and it’s situation is enough to prove that something did happen. Something quite grand, too, since it would literally take more than a few shaky stages or slippery floors to push the entirety of their group onto the floor.

“Is anyone-” Hongjoong raised his arm to point to the outside, but hissing in pain while doing so, his eyes now focused on his purple-ish bruise blooming into a darker colour. 

No one but Wooyoung reacted to the leader’s pain, apparently, since they’re all so distracted in trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened - even shy little Yeosang is helping the lady on the front desk collect her scattered documents while gathering informations - and when Hongjoong sent Wooyoung a warning glance to not talk about his injury further, all Wooyoung did was frown.

“What if you sprained-”

“ _ Wooyoung _ , it’s fine,” Hongjoong slips his jacket on again, a little slower this time and with the help of Wooyoung, but then the two return to the task at hand. Even though they don’t  _ know  _ what task they’re supposed to have at hand.

“What were you trying to say,  _ hyung _ ?” San approaches, looking a level whole lot of paler than he usually is, but his voice is stable enough for a pass that he’s not that disturbed. Wooyoung knows better. The little tremors spreading like wildfire through his friend’s fingers are the eager need for him to contact his  _ family _ , but there’s no way he can do that unless they retrieve their phones from the manager; which is nowhere in sight.

“The, uh-” Hongjoong squints his eyes as he opens the door, looking left and right before stepping one foot outside, “the people.”

San tilts his head, stealing a glance at a distracted Wooyoung.

“Where’s the people? There are no people and there’s just been a huge. . . earthquake not even a minute ago,” the leader continues, almost straining his neck from halting just before he cursed out loud, outside, where people can see or record him. “People usually swarm all around the place after something that grand happened?”

Wooyoung is left behind alone, right in front of the opened door while his bandmates walk here and there in search for other human beings - as if to prove their worries wrong. They aren’t wrong. There’s no one in sight.

“Look,” Mingi nudges their older while nodding behind them, to the flickering lights of their usual family-friendly 7/11. It’s dark, apparently - none of them remembered it being like that when they entered the building, but then again, it  _ was  _ too early in the morning - and it looks abandoned. Maybe it just looks abandoned because they were just hit by something so shocking, but it looks a bit  _ off. _

Like a lot of the things that is happening. A bit off.

Seonghwa approaches the dim-lighted convenient store, leaning back as his soft nudge on the door lets it swing open, and he looks back at the rest of them - minus Wooyoung, who is just earnestly peeking from the entrance of their door. 

“Why is it so dark-  _ holy shit _ -” Seonghwa took his sweet time chanting prayers when he saw a gigantic  _ rat  _ runs past his decently priced shoes, from its mouth something red and juicy was hanging, and he prayed to every God above them that it’s just canned food that the rat was ratting on and not actual, fresh meat. It’s a big fucking rat, and that’s alarming enough for Seonghwa.

“ _ Hyung _ , let’s just- not go inside,” Wooyoung is suddenly by his side, eyes scanning the older’s face up and down while the hold on his wrist tightens ever-so-slightly. Seonghwa debated on should he listen to this kid or not, wanting to say stupid things like, ‘Calm down, Wooyoung, I’m not scared of a little rat.’ But he has a feeling that this is something bigger than that - and for the time being, he made the wise decision to step back from the store’s door, letting the bells above them clink together once more as the door slots itself into a nice, strong position of being  _ closed.  _

The action brought some nostalgic feelings into Seonghwa’s heart, and they swarm around there for a little bit more until he looks down at the corner of the tightly closed window, a bit tainted by the official colours of the 7/11 he’s so used to seeing.

There’s another rat in there, munching on something a bit bigger than the rat he saw had - well, it’s a rat, so he figures it might be it’s happiest moment to be biting on something so red, so. . . fresh-looking and. . . meaty. Nothing could explain what made his gaze so fixed on this little, nasty animal feasting on some unknown food Seonghwa can’t really label, but then the rat turned around to take more bite off of whatever it was eating; and it almost made Seonghwa gag. 

It’s a finger.

It’s a human’s finger. Well, what’s left of it, anyway - since the bone structure of a human’s finger is unmistakable and unique. But there’s a ring lying right next to it. A wedding ring.

“Ah! There you kids are!” the voice of someone familiar yet so unfamiliar echoed into Seonghwa’s ears, snapping him out of the violent scene he was witnessing. The rest of the kids doesn’t seem to be as distracted as he is, aside from Wooyoung, and he was about to ask the younger about it until this random guy popped out from inside their company. He looks familiar, but not really.

“You’re ready, aren’t you?” he questions, and Seonghwa can’t shake the fact that this guy looks as bewildered and as afraid as  _ they  _ are. Usually, their adult-and-very-responsible asses will be going at it as much as they can, giving this guy who just appeared a tsunami of questions about what the fuck is going on and where the fuck did everyone go and, who the fuck are  _ you _ ? But this time. . . something went wrong this time, and if Hongjoong decides to shut his mouth, Seonghwa can do nothing against it - and so can the rest of them.

“Ready to what,  _ Sir _ ?” Hongjoong responds, sounding a bit out of breath and in pain as he looks up from the ground he was so keen on watching. “For your first Music Show. They told us they were about to postpone your performance tomorrow because of. . .  _ reasons _ ? But then they contacted us again and informed us that they want you to pre-record? Let’s go, kids - don’t waste time. It’ll be easier for you to leave since there’s no one outside right now, let’s  _ go _ .”

Yunho steps forward, tapping the guy by his shoulder. He turns around, looking a little more dead and paler than when he first came outside. When did his cheeks and eyes hollowed out like that, Yunho can’t tell. Either way, he continues as politely as he could.

“We usually travel with our manager,  _ Sir _ \- so if you don’t mind, we’ll be waiting for him. Though, I think I’ve seen you before?”

The guy dismissively waves his hand, turning to look at Hongjoong, who is uninterestedly watching as the whole ordeal happens. “Your manager’s already on set from this morning, trying to look for signals to contact your family members.”

“D-did they respond?” San’s interest was piqued, and he lets go of his tight hold on Wooyoung to catch this guy’s eyes. “I don’t know,” was his response, and San confusedly looks at his friends for backup, “but we can go there  _ now  _ to find out?”

Hongjoong, defeated and is already interested enough to just get on their van and leave this fucking place; sighs before walking slowly towards their parking lot. “Let’s just go,” he motions for the rest of them to follow him, “the sooner we go at it the sooner we can go home and forget whatever the fuck happened this morning.”

\-----

Their manager is indeed, on set - he’s one of the little to no group of people who is helping ATEEZ to get out there and perform and do their fucking best. Which is weird to start with, since, well; there’s usually more than  _ four  _ staff surrounding them and they don’t usually do their makeup. . . themselves.

Yes, like with their own hands.

Hongjoong looks like his head is about to pop off. He’s been stopping almost every other second to wince at the pain coming from his left arm, when he took his jacket off and when he replaced his shirt with a new one, also when they put him in the suit they’re supposed to be wearing. Seonghwa did a whole motherly ‘why the fuck didn’t you tell us?’ kind of rant before Hongjoong shushes him by looking scary as fuck, as per usual.

He’s going to be fine, though. He usually pulls through, but he doesn’t usually have to put on his own makeup with one injured hand.

Luckily, San - who is in a better mood because their manager allowed him their phones and he’s managed to contact his  _ mother  _ \- is there to help Hongjoong out.

San is humming, and Wooyoung can’t place a finger on why it’s so unsettling for him. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the happy but creepy nursery rhyme he’s humming, or because he can see that something isn’t settling correctly in San’s heart. So Wooyoung decided to ask him.

“What’s up?”

“Happy,” San responds, and Hongjoong’s eyes followed the turning of the younger’s head, though he stays as still as possible to not deserve the Wooyoung and San communication they’ve been deprived from since this morning.

“Because Mom?” Wooyoung continues, and San nods with a little ‘Yeah,’ that is supposed to be cute and wholesome under normal circumstances. This is  _ not  _ normal circumstances. 

“Though I must admit, Woo,” San picks up the almost dying conversation, eyes flickering from his concentration on Hongjoong’s eyeshadow to Wooyoung’s prying eyes. “She responded a bit weirdly.”

The older looks at Wooyoung with an evident pout, though this one time it’s not the sad type; or the ones where he uses them for fanservice which would result in people screeching, usually. San looks confused, but a little assured of something so sinister that he’s unable to say it out loud, too afraid that it might be true but not so hopeful that it isn’t. Wooyoung understands.

“Really?” Hongjoong chimes in, eyes opened to see San nodding, now at his direction. “Weird like what?”

There’s silence that follows, only filled by the ‘woosh’ of Yunho and Mingi on a quick run to wear their suits and the clanking in the distance where Yeosang adjusts his belt from behind the changing curtains.

“Like her messages were generated,” San looks behind him, onto the mirror. He looks calm, as if none of this is bothering him at all, whereas Hongjoong looks disturbed and concerned, trying to look at Wooyoung to find explanations which the younger can not give him. 

Choi San is fixing his fringe, making sure the final touches of his makeup is flawless enough to pass as if nothing happened, and then he looks back at Hongjoong through the mirror - holding his breath as he says these next few words.

_ “As if it wasn’t her. Wasn’t my mom.” _

Wooyoung looks up just in time to see their manager’s head popping in, and Yeosang made a noise of distress while he zips his pants up and runs to the makeup table to finalize his final touches. “You’re up in a minute, let’s go.”

Yeosang is stressed.

Like, not in a bad way - he’s sure he’s going to make it out alive and be just fine while doing it, but he’s stressed nonetheless. It all started going downhill since this morning, and he knew that just by looking at Wooyoung’s back, earlier in the morning. About 3AM, while everyone else was still dead asleep and the cicadas were still going on and on about their day, Wooyoung was already situated in the dark living room; eyes focused on the dimly-lit TV screen Yeosang  _ swore  _ had no remote, since he hid them.

Wooyoung was watching the morning news, apparently, or was it midnight news?  _ It was news _ , and Yeosang had no interest in seeing what the younger was watching, only that Wooyoung shushed him when he asked ‘Do you want tea, Woo?’

And for that, it must be important.

Also the fucking earthquake-slash-massive-explosion that happened a few hours ago? The 7/11 that looked like it was abandoned, even though that convenience store is the only place Yeosang used to run down to and took longer than necessary in the isles to pretend to try and find milk when in reality he was crying his eyes out quietly?

Now, they’re entering the bright stage once again, with their leader’s arm half-broken or maybe strained, who knows by now - and half of them traumatized by something Yeosang can not wrap his head around yet?

“Ugh,” he can’t help the groan that escaped his lips. Yeosang is the first one to enter, surprisingly, since he doesn’t really like firsts, as per usual. The stage is, well. . . a stage, but while we’re on the topic of the atmosphere being really off, Yeosang thinks he finally gets the gist of what his friends are going on and on about.

There’s a strong ass  _ scent  _ lingering in the air, almost so strong that it doesn’t even classify as a scent anymore - it’s just a smell. The problem isn’t even the fact that it’s a bad smell, on the contrary, it’s a quiet pleasant one. If only it isn’t too much.

Yeosang scrunches his nose up in disgust, trying to hold the bile from forming in his throat. He’s always been one of the more sensitive ones among the eight of them, speaking of things like  _ these _ . Like when a woman or man passes by them, said individual wearing a little too much perfume than necessary; he’ll feel the need to throw up in that instant. 

He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him either.

But it’s not just. . . that. Oh, how he wishes that the strong smell was the only problem he’s currently facing. 

Call Yeosang crazy, call him someone who’s had a little too much drink of a substance that wasn’t supposed to drive you crazy in the first place - but it feels almost like this overwhelming smell of perfume was made to drown the entire place to cover some  _ other  _ stench. Something Yeosang is also, able to pick up - no thanks to his sensitive as fuck nose and how everything smells so fucking distinctive to him - and this something is if only a little more disgusting than too much perfume.

_ Something’s rotting. _

It bothers him to no end, especially since Yeosang has never been someone who is always entirely sure of himself, but this one time. . . he feels as if the world’s turned on its axis, turned upside down to reveal a whole new side of him. Something about this whole venue, the placement of the lights so they couldn’t see past the first row of the audience - which is empty, since this is a pre-recording - and the overdose of smell, not harmonizing with each other.

“Are they trying to  _ blind  _ us?” Jongho squints, looking back at their manager, voicing his concern a little louder. “We need to see the cameras, though?”

At the mention of cameras, Yeosang looks up from the floor, finding it no longer interesting.  _ Right, cameras.  _

They’re trying to cover something, he’s sure of it - but he wasn’t sure what before Jongho stepped in and helped him form this sick and twisted idea in his head. Well, Jongho helped with little to nothing but saying whatever he wanted to say out loud.

Yeosang’s eyes needed a few adjustments before they can fully grasp what was  _ actually  _ beyond the lights projectiled towards their faces, what was behind the still-cameras which usually were moved here and there by very passionate camera-people. Where  _ are _ the camera people, Yeosang wanted to ask, but it appeared that he doesn’t need to.

They’re right there, behind the cameras - as per usual.

But they’re. . . unmoving.

It wouldn’t be as concerning to Yeosang if he didn’t notice the way one’s neck was situated, tilted a little bit further than necks are supposed to tilt, even when he’s living alongside Choi San himself - someone who seems to exceed the usual neck-snapping limits. It also wouldn’t be as concerning if he doesn’t see the little colourful wools used to tie each and every one of a person’s fingers to the front lens of the  _ closed  _ camera. It’s lid is on top of the lens; what the  _ fuck  _ is it supposed to be used for?

The camera right next to the one Yeosang has been watching is apparently turned on, visible from the blinking red light and the automatic zoom in and zoom out on a member’s face, supposedly - but there’s also something wrong with the person holding the camera.

He’s- 

Yeosang is too shocked to take further notice as he stumbles backwards, running into Seonghwa, who is looking at him slightly concerned.

The person behind that camera isn’t even  _ alive _ . His hands were tied so that it looks like he’s holding the camera, sure, but his face isn’t even sticking to the screen behind the camera for him to monitor the movements - not as if he  _ could  _ move. There’s two, visible holes on this man’s face aside from his absent eyeballs. There’s also dried blood decorating the rest of his exposed skin, neck, maybe - Yeosang is too shaken to realize which body part is which, and the least he can do is to try and calm his breathing down.

He knows he won’t look  _ that  _ pale since his entire face, down to his neck - if he remembered to swipe makeup last minute on his neck too - is covered by a somewhat decent layer of real life photoshop.

But he just doesn’t know if his further actions are enough to fool the rest of his friends, and the people watching.

The people. . . watching.

Somehow, the unreal and automated cheers hurt his head, the off-beat light switches and the sudden zaps of colours out of nowhere isn’t enough to put him out of his performer persona. It’s just the thought of the people supposedly watching him that shatters his walls a little, and now he’s wondering if they’re doing all this for  _ nobody. _

What if?

Yeosang’s head turns a little too fast while he’s in a mission to catch their leader’s expression, who doesn’t show even the slightest hint that he’s sporting an injury and is currently trying to perform without breaking down - and this is usually a grave mistake. Someone turning their heads too fast or moving on to the next set of move a millisecond earlier. There’s no signs of anyone stopping them. None.

When Yeosang looks back in front, halfway to finishing their performance for that day, he frowns when he watches explicitly how the cameraman’s head; that was previously still in tact with his neck - is now tilted all the way to the back, hanging onto little bits of skin and muscle left on the back of his neck. 

Yeosang experienced literal pain in his esophagus while he tries his best to breathe through the constant need to throw up, and the dizziness returns only for the song to end  _ right  _ before he is pressured to make another turn that would leave him on the floor, airway to his lungs blocked completely. 

He praises his own self-control before their manager  _ personally  _ drags them off stage, since there is apparently no signs whatsoever that they should follow. 

Obviously.

Everyone behind the scene are  _ dead. _

Yeosang hurries to the restroom, his gloved-hands covering his lower face as tight as he could, complaining to himself when he can’t even hold himself up long enough before he storms into the stool closest to the opened restroom door, exposing him to anyone that walks past in the right enough angle to see that ATEEZ’s Yeosang is currently above the toilet bowl, throwing up the content of his stomach that didn’t even exist in the first place.

Mingi, luckily enough, was tailing behind him, asking no questions whatsoever. He stays there until the way-too-sharp smell of perfume mixed with rotten  _ human  _ meat no longer lingers inside Yeosang’s airway, rubbing Yeosang’s back while sometimes he chimes in with soft, motherly assurance.

Once the smaller was finished, Mingi wastes no time in standing up, rushing all the way to their changing room to retrieve a small plastic cup for Yeosang to rinse his mouth with. 

No words were exchanged, and Mingi learns that Yeosang will be forever thankful to him for that exact moment.

_ If they even  _ have  _ forever. _

\-----

The door was slammed on them, which made Mingi flinch if only the slightest before he opens the door again, calling out to the guy they never caught the name of that has been dropping them off at the Music Show and now back at home. “Uh. . .” Mingi trails off, uncertain on how he should refer to this slightly older man. 

“O-our manager usually, uh- drops me to the hospital at this time around. You know, my weekly check-ups?” he chuckles awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck which isn’t really helping him with his awkward cause. The guy looks as if he’s regretting his entire life decision at the moment, face-palming himself as hard as he could. Mingi tries to stop him from hurting himself, although that’s maybe a little bit too late for that. 

“Right! I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the guy is now rummaging around his ‘emergency backpack’-looking bag, and Mingi chuckles once again, muttering a ‘No, it’s okay,’ before his eyes rounded at the sight of his medicine.

His medicine?

“Here. I was given this, I just forgot who I was supposed to give it to,” the guy chuckles, completely ignoring the concerned look on the red-head’s face. “My- how did you- I didn’t know we could like,” Mingi snaps his fingers to try and find the right word, “bring this home?”

The guy only laughs, bowing curtly before hurrying away from the dormitory, leaving Mingi alone in the quiet streets of that night.

He closes the door a little softer this time, covering the gasp that would alarm Seonghwa, at the very least - because in his hands, right now, is a couple dose of  _ morphine.  _ In sealed little glasses, apparently; something even he hasn’t seen before, even if he’s spent a few hours of his sad months in the hospital. He’s never been given something this strong.

Nope. Fuck staying quiet.

“What the actual  _ fuck _ did he give me?!” Mingi exclaims, almost dropping the liquid drugs all at once onto the floor, inviting a few pitter-patters from the rest of his members who are now approaching him by the front door and a soft, ‘Hongjoong, no. You stay there,’ from Seonghwa.

“What is it, Mingi?” Yunho was the first one to reach him, aside from all the members running to him at the same time - since Yunho’s room is effectively placed right at the end of the hallway Mingi is currently standing in, making him the first one to reach the confused young man with a plastic bag in his hands. “Why’d you have a syringe with you?”

That in itself is already pretty alarming to Jung Yunho, and he snatches the bag away from Mingi’s grasp, timing it right when Jongho and none other than Seonghwa appears with questionable looks in their eyes. “Who’s got a syringe?” Seonghwa questions, but less accusing than how Yunho said it and more like. . . he’s got an idea.

“And  _ morphine _ s?!” Yunho exclaims.

“Mingi’s got morphines?!” Jongho echoes.

Mingi would’ve said, “I’ve got morphines!” one more time just for the comedic effect of it, but in the moment, he needs to defend himself before he gets kicked out of the group for obtaining illegal - according to him, it must be illegal - drugs, or worse; kicked out of the house in the middle of the night. In the dark. He’s got nowhere to go, and they may have to do more promotions tomorrow.

“I don’t know why he gave it to me,  _ either _ !”

“Who gave you these?” Seonghwa questions, not waiting for Mingi to respond before he snatches the bag from Yunho’s hand, getting questionable looks thrown at him from three different pair of eyes. “T-the guy that was acting as our chauffeur?” Mingi hesitates before answering. He doesn’t really want to out the guy like that, since he looks like the kind of guy who makes questionable decisions at questionable times but is still a good guy nonetheless. Besides, he looked like he wasn’t in the right state of mind to Mingi - so maybe this is a misplacement - but Seonghwa asked him a question, and sometimes, even Hongjoong cowers quite literally to the strength of their oldest’s questioning skills.

“Good,” Seonghwa locks the front door, not forgetting to maintain eye-contact with Mingi. “We  _ need  _ these.”

“W-wha-  _ Seonghwa _ ?” Yunho chimes in from his room, not caring about his bed-hair and his pajamas while he struts across the living room to follow the oldest, trying to get his point across. What is this is unsafe? What if somehow, this drug is illegal and some people from the government or something might trace them down and then that’s it, ATEEZ is done for good.

“Hongjoong looks like his arm is about to fall of, Yunho.”   
_ And to top all of his concerns, they’re using it on their  _ leader _? _

“ _ Hyung _ , wait a second, let’s think this through, okay? We’re not going to stop you if we’re facing a dead end but for the time being-” Yunho stops his train of thoughts while Seonghwa kneels down beside Hongjoong, who is laid out on the sofa - leaning on his right side while groaning like a dying bear.

Mingi made a noise to disagree with Yunho.

“I don’t completely disagree with Seonghwa, though?” his eyes flicker here and there from Hongjoong to Yunho, and then they will rest in between the two and land on Seonghwa for a little while, who is looking up at Yunho as if asking for his final verdict. Though they’re all pretty sure Seonghwa is going to do whatever he’s supposed to do for Hongjoong either way, he’s just wishing to go about it in the most non-violent way possible, hopefully also with the consent of the rest of the team - since Hongjoong is a bit too occupied with his sprained arm.

“F-fine,” Yunho looks away, unable to look at Hongjoong’s bruised left arm for more than an entire second. “I’ll just, be in the corner,” he continues, opting to look at the floor, “with Yeosang.”

Yunho is not against making Hongjoong feel less pain. He really isn’t! He’d also give the world and more if he could just be the person in place of Hongjoong’s injury instead of their leader, who could’ve made a whole lot of wiser decisions in place of whatever has been happening this day, and maybe they wouldn’t be this much of a mess.

He saunters over limply to across the table where Yeosang is sitting, seeming like an ungrounded mess of paleness and disconnection with the world - and apparently both Wooyoung and San are clinging to each side of him; the three of them in their own little world with the two on the side speaking with hushed tones and Yeosang trying to stop himself from sobbing over god knows what. Yunho mentally curses himself for not figuring out the fact that something is definitely happening with his bandmates sooner, and now he feels like he hasn’t been paying that much attention.

Do they need to sport an injury as bad as Hongjoong for Yunho to finally realize that something is going on with his friends?

“Hold this for a second,” Seonghwa gave Jongho the freshly washed syringe and the rest of the morphines in the plastic bag, making sure the youngest is holding it with great care and not as sloppy as Mingi used to hold it a few moments ago. “What are we going to do with the rest of it,  _ hyung _ ?” Jongho questions, and this made Seonghwa stop washing the dishes for a short moment, looking right into Jongho’s eyes.

“We’re saving it, Jongho,” he replies, as if it’s obvious. “Don’t tell me you don’t realize something incredibly wrong. I have a feeling that Hongjoong isn’t going to be the only accident we’re going to be facing anytime soon, and Yeosang-” Seonghwa sighs, “I haven’t checked how he’s doing, but those two are keeping him as safe as they possibly can, but  _ listen. _ We are in great danger, okay?”

Jongho nods, thinking back to earlier this morning when he made fun of Wooyoung and his ability of watching too much TV. His eyes travel for a short while to find Wooyoung before he returns to look at Seonghwa, who is dead serious - Jongho hasn’t seen him this serious in a long time, since he’s never made the oldest mad, as far as he remembered - and he feels scared for the first time in a while.

“We might just be the only ones left, and-” Jongho stops himself from doubting Seonghwa’s words, since apparently the saying ‘Don’t ever question your mother’ is always right, especially in situations like this. “-and they might want to keep it that way.”

“H-huh?” Jongho was about to question Seonghwa’s words further before he turns him around, a warning look on his face.  _ “There’s a camera in the corner of this room,” _ Seonghwa whispers, hiding it as a loud pat in the back before he sends Jongho away, the confused young man opting to not look back as he enters his room in a hurry, his heart beating way too loud in its ribcage.

Cameras.  _ In  _ the house? 

Seonghwa is right. There’s a blinking red dot in the corner of his eye, testing as if Jongho can see them - but after a few minutes of him calming his breath, the red dot turned off. 

Jongho can feel himself shaking, as if he’s in the middle of the coldest desert ever - since a part of him is burning up in hot, fiery anger while another part of him feels like they’re cold, stung by the needles of the cold and boisterous wind of the winter storm. His knees gave up on him, and he felt the need to sleep right then and there.

Jongho is awoken only by the rapping of fingers on the surface of his door and the soft nudges of the slightly opened door to the bottom of his back, and the ever-so-familiar voice of. . . Hongjoong, calling for him.

Wait, Hongjoong?

“ _ Hyung _ , you-” Jongho opens his door to greet the older, who looks like he’s doing just fine. “You’re not in pain?” 

Hongjoong hums, showing the aftermath of a massage by Seonghwa while he was held down by none other than Mingi and Yunho since without those two, Hongjoong would be kicking Seonghwa off of his back and the two would fight for hours on end even with Hongjoong’s left hand being absent.

His arm is now slightly swollen from the few hours of massage Seonghwa has put in after the pain was gone - thank God for that drug Mingi got - but Hongjoong looks a lot livelier. That’s good, now, isn’t it?

“Dinner’s ready,” he pulls Jongho out with his non-injured hand, a forced smile written across his face. Maybe Seonghwa has told him the thing he told Jongho?

San and Wooyoung have apparently worked together - under the scrutinizing gaze Seonghwa has when he wants his friends to do as he says - to lift a very absent Yeosang away from the sofa in the corner to the dining room, and now he’s still being clung to by the two that previously worked together in lifting him off the sofa, but is also now doted on by Seonghwa who is feeding him like a mother bird, softly stroking the younger’s hair every now and then.

Jongho frowns at Hongjoong.

Why’d he say it like that?  _ Dinner’s ready? _

The lights flicker around them, once, twice, three times before it turned off; and Yeosang leaped closer into Wooyoung’s hold while the younger clasps on his back soothingly, San now taking over the feeding duty as Seonghwa rushes to the middle of the room with his phone and the sound of Yunho running downstairs echoes through the entire house.

“Hurry, Hwa, we don’t have all day,” Hongjoong states, now back with his authoritative commanding voice as he apparently has regained consciousness and is not in a state of constant pain. Yunho slides down the stairs as fast as he can, pulling out the scissor he kept inside the pockets of his hoodie before throwing it onto the table. 

“I’m sorry if it’s a little dark, Yeosang, here’s a flashlight,” Seonghwa smiles like a mother before he turns back to the rest of them, leaning onto the table.

“The world is ending. No one told us anything. Apparently we were kept out of it and they’re trying to keep us in the dark for as long as they possibly can. I don’t know why or what their reasons are, since we can’t be money-making machines if there’s  _ no one  _ who would spend money on us since they’re all dead,” he looks over at Yeosang, who gives no shit about what he’s saying and is instead looking up at Wooyoung from where he’s situated like the guy has stars in his eyes. 

“And we know this because,  _ A.  _ The cashier who worked at the 7/11 underneath our company has been dead for a while now. I witnessed two rats munching on his fingers and maybe his ear-lobe,” Seonghwa continues talking, the fastest he’s ever possibly talked, and San made a little gagged sound in the back of his throat.

“ _ B. _ because. . .” he continues, not before looking at San and waiting for his go ahead, which the younger complies to with a curt nod, “because San has proven that his entire family have died.”

Mingi looks over at his friend, disbelief written all over his face while San raises an eyebrow at him, seemingly unbothered. 

“And evidence  _ C _ is. . .” Seonghwa looks at Yeosang, pointing his index finger at him. “Yeosang saw the corpses of the dead camera-crew in the Music Show, which explains why they poured so much perfume in there before we got on stage.”

Yunho ‘huh’-ed really loud. “They what? How did he see corpses of- Mingi! Was it when he ventured out on his own before you caught up to him?”

Mingi shook his head quickly, explaining how Yeosang went straight to the restroom after their stage and didn’t see, hear, or do anything else aside from throwing up for a whole 15-minutes straight, and then Mingi joins in the confusion. “So where did Yeosang see corpses?”

“On stage,” Hongjoong chimes in, both Yunho and Mingi cursing under their breath in disgust. “They sat the corpses there like a bunch of rag dolls, just behind the camera. I wouldn’t have noticed at first if Yeosang didn’t went off beat for a millisecond after he checked up on me for the millionth time in that one performance, and in return, I saw what has been distracting him this whole time.”

Seonghwa frowns, seemingly questioning why the rest of them sees nothing out of the ordinary.

“The corpse’s neck,” Hongjoong motions the deep cut left on the dead camera-man’s neck before he tilts his head really far to the back, catching Yunho’s eyes - who is behind him.

“ _ Shit _ ,” Mingi winces, nope-ing in disgust. “Yeosang had to see  _ that _ ?”

“Do we need to talk about this a few more times or are we proceeding to what could actually save our lives without further traumatizing any one of us?”

Seonghwa is right, once again.

I do not know how many more times I need to get that agenda into your head, but Seonghwa is always going to be right. 

“You mean,” Wooyoung shifts in his seat as gently as he possibly could, and Yeosang leaned away to hide himself in San’s hold this time around. “You mean we’re leaving? Like. . . away from this life? Leaving the things we’ve been accustomed to for our entire life -  _ that  _ kind of leaving?”

“Woo,” San tries to hold his best friend’s hand with his unoccupied arms, “if we don’t do exactly that, we might not even have any life to live anymore,” he says in the softest form of a Choi San voice it has ever been. “And even if we don’t, I’d like to think we’re not going down without a fight.”

Wooyoung is silent, his face morphing into something they’re all too familiar with. He’s holding back himself from crying, his breathing stopped almost completely since he’s trying to not let out even a single whine from the loud crashing waves of loss he’s currently feeling. But it’s fine. It’ll be fine.

He would’ve complained about how unfair it feels, how they’ve only started out into the world with no intentions to return home only to never see the stage again, to never see the lights shine upon their faces again, to never hear or experience the deafening rush of euphoria the thousands and millions of people usually bring upon their existence and the core meaning of their lives - he would’ve. 

Wooyoung would still like to make people smile, to make them laugh in a way that they don’t realize is so beautiful for other people to see. He still wants to inspire people, to put out things that would reach out for people’s hands and ask them to join  _ them  _ in feeling the things they feel, seeing the things they see, and loving whoever they need to love or be loved by whoever feels the need to love. He wants, needs, craves time. He wants much more than this, they’re too young to stop.

Definitely too young.

But  _ who  _ would he do it for?

Who else will be out there, who else is left to feel the things he wants them to feel? Who else is out there waiting for him, believing in the things he says and the things that will be said? 

Who else is breathing in hopes and dreams, basking in passion and waiting for the right time to come? Waiting for the future,  _ believing  _ in the certainty of tomorrow?

Who else can he lean on aside from the ones he’s sitting beside?

Because it’s more than hard to accept, even harder to figure out, and impossible to let go of the fact that those questions don't have answers. The answer, the unknown thing that will get you nowhere but to ask for deeper meanings - the thing that might look satisfying from afar but is decently generic when seen up close -  _ that  _ answer, is right in front of him.

They don’t have to live for anyone else. They no longer have to watch for every little movement they made since it might stir up a controversy. They no longer have to pretend to be the best versions of themselves that might go against what they’ve always been, and they no longer need to submit to the constant pressure that is nagging at the back of their heads.

Answer. . .

Is this the answer? Is it  _ freedom _ ?

\-----

Seonghwa finishes another short but very needed cleaning around their dormitory, hurrying himself up when the clock strikes 02:59 AM. He finds himself unable to part ways with any of his things, feeling the tears well up when he realizes that most of his older shirts needed to be left behind, even though they’re mostly given by his mother and those are the only things he’s got left from her - or any of his family members, for that matter.

“Where are we going?” Yunho picks up his bag of belongings, something as big as himself since he’s renowned himself strong enough to carry the gigantic bag - Jongho would’ve been first option, but if he carried it, half of those things would be dragged across the ground for a few hours until they found something close enough to a transportation course. 

“Uh. . .” Seonghwa wipes the baby-tears away from his eyes, looking at Yunho, who is looking back at him. “Yeosang’s- his. . . hometown?”

“On foot?”

“We have enough money for a train-ride, if those still exist. If not, yes, on foot. Unless we find someone who dumped their car effectively close enough to a gas station, which,” Seonghwa chuckles, “we can never hope for too much.”

Yunho grimaces, still politely smiling even in situations like this.

“Still,” he holds the door open for Seonghwa, “200 km?” 

The two of them walked out of the dorm, silently giving it their last goodbye’s before pressing on the elevator buttons. “It’s not too far,” Seonghwa chuckles, looking at their apartment keys in his hands. The thought of returning them to the old-lady downstairs crossed his mind, but is she still here?

“Not too far?” Yunho repeats, as if Seonghwa is out of his mind. “Well if I’m ever tired,  _ hyung _ \- please carry me and this 15kg bag of. . . something.”

The elevator door opens, revealing the calm and bright lobby, empty of people. The old-lady’s seat is empty, save for the full cup of coffee that is still sitting silently on the table, beside a newspaper with a coffee stain on it. 

She’s not here. And by the looks of it, no one else is.

A wave of nostalgia hits Seonghwa yet again, and his eyes are now cast downwards - his perked ears almost catching the carefree and a bit too loud giggles and petty jokes they used to throw at each other in these exact lobbies, only stopping last minute to bow respectfully at the old-lady who would always ask them how they’re feeling and give them a nice warm cup of tea during every winter when their knuckles get too cold and their feet are slippery outside.

The cafeteria is now dark and closed completely, save for the soft elevator music that is coming from god-knows-where and the utter silence that is beginning to ring in Seonghwa’s ears. 

And then it happened.

Loud, annoying sirens,  _ now  _ sounding as if they’re about to demolish their whole city until nothing is left, and the sounds grew louder and louder - almost as if it wants them to hurry up and evacuate. Leave the city, leave the things they grew up with, leave,  _ leave.  _ Run as fast as you can, and unless someone is falling behind, don’t stop.

Seonghwa grabs Yunho’s hand and they ran outside, where the other six is waiting with panic decorating their faces, and once Hongjoong caught sight of the two of them right beside Wooyoung and Yeosang, he ordered them to start  _ bolting _ .

First mistake.

There’s a chain of airplanes above them, and if that didn’t compel Hongjoong to make his kids run even faster, no one knows what would.

But the siren then was replaced with loud, blaring music, and if the whole eight-membered group of ATEEZ isn’t blinded by their fear and anxiety, they’d recognize it as their national anthem. Where this music was coming from, they don’t have a clue. What they do know, though - is that they need to  _ move _ .

The air forces were gone as quickly as they appeared, and the national anthem kept playing in the distance while they run through the nooks and crannies of shady Seoul alleys they’ve grown to know throughout the years, and soon enough, they’re well hidden like rats underneath the sewer while they run as quick as they can to the station when the bombs started dropping behind them, a short sign of victory for their quick-witted minds, at least for now.

Soon enough, Yeosang is out of breath.

Yeosang is holding himself up nicely this whole time, considering the fact that he didn’t pay any attention to Seonghwa’s plans and was panicking the whole time ever since Yunho caused the light to turn off out of nowhere last night - but he was, and never will be, built to run the whole fucking time. Wooyoung took notice of this, but doesn’t dare to say anything since his loud voice might gave away the fact that they  _ exist _ .

“Y-Yeosang,” he pants, circling his left arm around his friend’s, “a little. . . a little bit more- okay?”

His index finger was pointing to a sharp turn where they might be allowed to catch their breaths for a short while, and Yeosang; poor, pale, and almost sick-looking Yeosang, nods. His eyes are focused on grasping tightly on Wooyoung’s hand and looking at the back of San’s head, since he can’t really focus on anything else but that for the time being - until they heard it.

_ “Who’s there?!” _

Way back on the entrance of the alley they’ve left behind, there are two men. Unknown from where, or what they want, or if they’re ever planning to spare these eight other men’s lives, but at the moment they heard one of them shooting their guns  _ somewhere,  _ Hongjoong’s mother bear instincts kicked in.

He tapped on Mingi’s shoulder to let him know to just keep  _ moving _ , and Mingi, though with a heavy heart - did nothing but nod. Hongjoong will live. It’s Hongjoong we’re talking about.

Jongho stared at the leader wide eyed while he passes by him, so does San and Wooyoung, who are both very concerned but are responsible of Yeosang and keeping him moving, so they didn’t have enough time to turn around. There were about a few chants of prayers for their leader at that time, but Seonghwa does nothing like that.

He stops completely, pushing Yunho so that the younger keeps running on their course, and widened his eyes at Hongjoong. 

_ The trash-bin? _

After a few seconds of, luckily, successful telepathy episodes - Hongjoong and Seonghwa moves the big trash-bin across the tiny alley, ignoring the loud groans and complains of the two men chasing them down. The bin is taller than even Yunho, so apparently even if you want to climb them, the other would have to wait on the other side. Seonghwa and Hongjoong can run away from at least one men-

There’s two  _ other  _ gunshots that was fired, and Seonghwa can see Hongjoong  _ flinching  _ away in shock under the dim-light of the alley before he looks up at Seonghwa with his big round eyes, but Seonghwa wastes no time in pulling his friend away by his non-injured arm, and together, they ran outside - following the rest of their friends.

It seems like there  _ is  _ a train, though it might be the last train to those area since the conductor looks like they’re hurrying them up since Mingi’s head is bulging out of the door, pointing at Hongjoong and Seonghwa to the poor conductor who just wants to get moving.

“ _ Hyung _ ! Fucking finally - why did you even take care of the-” Mingi stops talking, his once excited face froze, almost as if he saw a whole ghost. Seonghwa grimaced, eyes flickering to the side where the rest of his friends are situated, all of them glaring at the two oldest ones like they’ve grown horns out of their heads. Their faces are empty, almost void of all emotions, save for Yeosang, who is already standing up to open the window.

“A-a. . .” he opens his mouth, voice strained in his throat, and Seonghwa finally looks beside him to see the problem. “J-Joong- _ hyung _ ?” Yeosang’s voice falters before it breaks at the end of his sentence, and he once again sobs while his hands are stretched as far as they can to reach Hongjoong. 

The fucking bullets went through his chest.

Seonghwa felt like his heart has been frozen, like something really cold just bit into his bones and now he’s unable to move, feel, or breathe without being stung by the frostbitten souls of his guilt. Hongjoong  _ wasn’t  _ flinching from the shock of the gunshots.

He was shot right in the middle of his chest.

The train honks, and there’s a distant sound of whistle from the conductor that didn’t want to witness their  _ obvious  _ last goodbyes. 

“Seonghwa- _ hyung _ ,” Mingi croaks out, and Seonghwa can’t bear to look at the younger’s tear-stained face. “Come on.”

Hongjoong looks away from Yeosang, whose hand he’s been holding the entire time, and now Seonghwa is sure the younger is looking at him. He doesn’t know. He’s unsure, there’s tears clogging his view and there’s a ringing of sadness in his ears and he just doesn’t know how to stop it. He sees and hears nothing, he feels nothing, and he-

There’s a hand on his face.

It’s Hongjoong’s hand.

It was stained with his own blood, but it was warm. It felt  _ nice _ , and Seonghwa just wants it to feel nice forever, like they should’ve. It could’ve felt nice at least a little longer. It could’ve been warm a little longer, and it  _ should’ve  _ felt like home a little longer.

He should’ve known.

When they decided to leave home, he should’ve known the consequences that could come next. But god-fucking-dammit does it still hurt like hell.

“Hwa,” Hongjoong says, a few milliseconds before he sent himself into a coughing fit, blood coming out of his lungs and clogging up his airway. “Take care of them, Seonghwa,” he continues, “don’t ever stop running,” - and Seonghwa was half hoping that the younger would return to his usual stance, where he would stand up straight as if nothing in this world could run against him and he looks like the strongest, safest home they could always return to.

He didn’t.

Hongjoong slumps against the pillar behind them while Seonghwa lets himself be pulled by Mingi into the train, hearing the taller hold back his sobs while he huffs out warm breaths trying to not alarm the entire train of their leader’s departure.

It didn’t work.

Yeosang is wailing, and his loud cries were accompanied by a few others’ that Seonghwa can not will himself to figure out. His eyes are focused on his old friend’s weakened state, leaning against the once white pillar that is now stained with his blood, leaning on one of his hands to try and stay alive long enough to say one final goodbye to the kids he grew up with.

The train moves, and in an instant it was as if all dam broke and the entirety of the last carriage of the train, consisting of two people on the doorway and the other five leaning outside their window to just. . . silently stare at their beloved friend. Mingi didn’t feel the need to hold himself back anymore - his quiet sobs now turned into something decently self-controlled enough while his entire wall he built once upon a time comes crumbling down, and now he’s hanging out of the train from the little handle on the door, willing himself to see every last second of Hongjoong he might be able to see, ever. 

Their leader sighs, covering one of his wounds with a chuckle before shaking his head. “My kids are too dramatic for their own good,” he gave them one final wave, scrunching his nose to the sudden pang in his chest at the thought of never seeing them again, but feeling the nice, warm, and familiar feeling of being proud of  _ them _ .

He believes in his friends and their ability to move on and let go, and with that in his mind - Hongjoong feels assured enough that they’re going to survive until the very end to let his eyes flutter to a close and rest in comfort for the first time in his life.

\-----

San is trying his best to fight the pain that went straight to the top of his lungs every time he tries and sucks in enough for him to breathe normally, but every now and then he looks up at Yeosang, whose eyes are puffed and red from crying over their friends, and what  _ remained  _ of their friends - and he can’t be another one of them.

He mustn't.

Yeosang was dead inside since a long time ago, when he had the misfortune of seeing corpses being situated in the most disrespectful way possible. He was dead inside even before he went through hell and back when Hongjoong let go of his hands on that train ride that day, before Seonghwa sacrificed himself yet again to let his six younger  _ brothers  _ run away with their food and supplies from a gang filled with cannibalistic men and their blood-thirsty dogs when they were hijacked on the train, before Yunho cuddled and sung lullabies for Yeosang only for him to be found hanged from a nearby tree the next day, before Mingi fought a couple of plunderers with bare hands since there’s nothing left for them to use, and before Jongho volunteered to walk first on a new-terrain and fell down a road way too soft for humans to step on and that’s the last we’ve heard of him.

Poor emotional Yeosang was crushed at every single one of their loss, but when winter comes around and they  _ still  _ don’t have any clue on where to go after their train ride ended - Wooyoung started getting sick.

Wooyoung was so sick he wasn’t able to move an inch without shivering like crazy, and San witnessed how it Yeosang’s heartbreak comes in waves, little by little growing into something so painful San almost thought Yeosang  _ himself  _ would die from the overwhelming amount of pain. Wooyoung died peacefully, more peaceful than all of the others since he went away in underneath the best blanket they could still find from Yunho’s bundle of clothes and Seonghwa’s old big shirts he slipped in all those times ago just in case.

San wondered if they could’ve just died together peacefully in their apartment, bombs falling on their heads as they took one last look at each other.

“San?” Yeosang’s voice echoed into San’s consciousness. He’s smiling, and there’s something different about seeing Yeosang smile after San’s watched him be in pain through it all. “We’re on a beach,” he states, albeit a little too happily for the pain in San’s lungs, but he returns the smile, trying his best to lean away from Yeosang, but the older was not about to let that happen.

“No, no, I’ll carry you,” Yeosang sighs, “you’re awfully sick.”

San shakes his head, looking back at Yeosang with a glint of mischievousness in his eyes. “You don’t look that much better either, Kang Yeosang,” he grins, and Yeosang returned his grin with a soft smile. The wind from the sea feels good on San’s hair, and it made him want to. . . close his eyes for a bit.

No! Yeosang is. . . if San gave up, too, he won’t make it. Hongjoong would want Yeosang to make it, wouldn’t he? He would. San should accompany Yeosang all the way to the end. The very,  _ very  _ end.

“I dreamt of us yesterday,” Yeosang hums, and it would usually be too quiet for San to hear, but this time; the serene and silent sounds of nature are the only ones that are surrounding them. “Of all of us.”

San leans in to Yeosang’s shoulder as the older’s hand wraps around him. “Is that so?” he asks, turning his chin up to look at Yeosang, who is looking into the horizon. The sun is setting. 

“I want to dream of all of us, too,” San chuckles, getting himself comfortable.

“Go to sleep, then,” Yeosang responds, quick and way too sure of himself. San watches without expression as the older takes his shoes off, setting them aside. “Go to sleep and dream about all of us. Don’t you miss us being together, San?”

San hums as a response, letting Yeosang lay his back on the warm but grainy sand.

They looked at each other for a short while, one of Yeosang’s hands running through his friend’s hair while the other rubs soothing circles onto his knuckles. 

“ _Sang_!” his voice was soft. Like he was unable to speak or produce any sound louder than that. Soft, like his heart that holds all the love in the entire world.

Yeosang hums, leaning in to listen to his friend’s calm breathing.

“Meet again,” San whispers, and Yeosang feels a sting in his eyes. “Meet again,” San repeats, breathing calming down.

“We will,” Yeosang lays his head on top of San’s chest - listening to his fading heartbeat. 

“We  _ will  _ meet again.”

**Author's Note:**

> let me give yall all the hugs i can give you c'mere.
> 
> come say hi to me on my other social media stuffs!!  
> tumblr: arrowthroughtheheartstuff  
> instagram: levanteary  
> twitter: basekickswingin


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